


A Pair of Snakes

by Melpomene_Muse_of_Tragedy



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Blood and Injury, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Guns, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Knifeplay, M/M, Meet-Cute, Psychopaths In Love, References to Drugs, Vincent (Rebornica) is Purple Guy (Five Nights at Freddy's), drincent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:01:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29572884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melpomene_Muse_of_Tragedy/pseuds/Melpomene_Muse_of_Tragedy
Summary: Dream meets up with George and Sapnap outside the creepy pizzeria that inspired those video games everyone is always talking about. He learns first hand why that place has its reputation.
Relationships: Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF)/Purple Guy (Five Nights at Freddy's), drincent
Comments: 5
Kudos: 9





	A Pair of Snakes

**Author's Note:**

> Monsterritory Today at 19:28 Bet you didn't know you'd be writing Dream x Vincent this morning
> 
> Melpomene Today at 19:30: Yuuup, or that it would work so well

Dream really needed to get more loyal friends. Or at least a few with a backbone.

He gritted his teeth together just remembering the look of terror on George and Sapnap’s faces when the guard found them. Even if it had been an actual police officer and not just a security guard, the cowardice of running away at the first sign of trouble was inexcusable.

Dream strained against the hands pinning his wrists behind his back, but the older man’s grapple-hold was surprisingly tight, and he couldn’t make any progress. 

Had either of his two ‘friends’ stuck around it would have been a piece of cake to overpower the lone pizzeria security guard, but despite all their tough talk, George and Sapnap were massive chickens when shit got real. Dream had been standing closer to the back door of the alleyway, so they left him at the mercy of this asshole. 

Dream looked around as he was frog-marched down the narrow hallway. The walls were painted a dreary shade of grey, with a checker pattern running in a band around the halls at about chest-height. It sure as hell didn’t look like a place you would want to bring your children. He only checked the place out after hearing about Tommy being traumatized by some shitty horror game based on it. 

Their destination turned out to be a small office at the end of two long hallways. The guard pushed Dream into a chair across from a large wooden desk. He heard metal scraping over wood and then a set of clicks as a pair of handcuffs tightened around his wrists. The short chain between the cuffs wrapped around the backrest of the chair, making it impossible for Dream to stand up.

“Now you just stay there for a moment, while I decide what I’m going to do with you.”

The security guard took a step back from Dream. The man looked to be somewhere in his early thirties, with black hair slicked back with some variety of shiny hair gel. Over his shoulder Dream could see a ponytail tied with a black ribbon. His lavender uniform seemed weirdly old-fashioned including a golden badge pinned to the lapel. Forced into sitting at hip-height, Dream couldn’t help but notice the ID card hanging from his belt.

Security Officer Vincent 

Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza

Dream could still hardly believe he was being detained by an employee of a children’s restaurant. The indignity was enough to bring a hot flush to his face. Still, whoever this chuckle-fucker thought he was, he had so far refrained from calling any actual police. He probably figured he could handle one punk kid on his own. 

Dream liked arrogance. It made for easier targets.

At the moment Vincent was carrying the black messenger bag he’d confiscated from Dream. He dropped the bag on the desk and removed Dream’s beloved Glock 27 from the side pocket on the bag. 

With a flick of his wrist, Vincent unloaded the magazine, then pulled the slide back to empty the chamber. Dropping the last .40 calibre round into his open hand. His technique left little doubt he had handled his fair share of firearms in his day.

The weapon neutralized, Vincent turned his attention to opening the duffle bag. 

“So, what exactly do we have in here, anyway?”

Dream didn’t respond. He needed to decide what tactic he was going to adopt and saying something before he picked could undermine his act.

Perhaps, if he turned on the waterworks, Vincent might let him go? It was usually best to start out appealing to sympathy, then see how far you could push it.

If you squinted, Dream sorta looked like an unlucky boy who was hanging out with the wrong crowd. He had on his trademark lime green hoodie, some expensive shoes Sapnap insisted were in style, and a pair of denim shorts that were maybe a little shorter than what you’d expect a guy to wear. 

He had his mask on, but he had pushed it to the side enough that it was quirky and not suspicious. 

Maybe, if he played his cards right, he could use that to his advantage. After all, people with bad intentions usually tried to look as normal as possible. 

Vincent pulled a plastic zip-lock bag out from the main pocket of Dream’s bag. It was utterly stuffed with black cable zip ties. Vincent placed it on the desk, his eyes widening as he discovered several prescription bottles filled with brightly coloured pills. None of the names on the bottles matched. Lastly, at the bottom were several bundles of hundred-dollar bills. 

“You realize how much trouble you’re in, don’t you, Kiddo?” Vincent asked, dropping the handful of bottles back into Dream’s bag.

While Vincent had been rifling through his stuff, Dream had been staring at the floor. Forcing himself not to blink. His eyes stung and watered just enough so that a few tears rolled down his cheeks. Dream let out a broken sob and lifted his head. Finally, making eye contact with Vincent. He tensed his shoulders and arms, so they shook.

“I… I’m sorry…” Dream blurted, seeming unable to keep his words at an even pace in his distress. “I… I didn’t know what was in it! I swear I didn’t… I was just told to take it here and give it to someone.”

“Whoa, take it easy there. Just slow down and tell me what happened. Maybe I can help you.” Vincent replied, his tone calm but unmistakably authoritarian. He walked over and rested a hand on Dream’s shoulder. Dream felt a genuine shiver pass along his back at the touch. 

Dream took a few deep breaths, dropping some of his more obvious body language to mimic getting his bearings. The pause gave him ample time to think up plausible excuses. 

“Wilbur said if I didn’t do it, then he’d kill me...” 

Dream made it through his torrent of bullshit without skipping a beat. Including an inflection of stress to push just how much he didn’t want to do what “Wilbur” had told him. He knew good lies needed a nugget of truth, including using names you would remember if you were asked twice. Wilbur was involved with drugs after all. Sorta… 

“I don’t do drugs. Or even drink, really,” Dream added defiantly. That was pure truth. The drugs weren’t for him after all. Ketamine, Rohypnol, Benzos, other sedatives. Useful for keeping people quiet. 

There was a moment of silence from Vincent. Maybe Dream had overdone it? Reading a target’s body language was hard when he insisted on standing behind him and breathing down his neck. 

“That’s nice and all, but like you said yourself, I’m not a cop kid. I don’t care what you do or don’t do, only that you did it in  _ my _ restaurant.” 

Dream swallowed hard. Alright, that was fine, he'd been barking up the wrong tree, time to find a new tree. 

Dream leaned back, tilting the chair so it was only standing on its back two legs. He stretched out until his hoodie slid up his torso. Revealing a small sliver of hips and tummy. Dream kept one eye open. To see if Vincent was watching.

He still couldn’t quite see, but Dream thought he could feel Vincent’s gaze on him and the grip on his shoulder tightened ever so slightly as he showed off his goods.

Clearly Vincent was looking for a bribe. Dream just had to figure out if he would pay in, Ass, Gas, or Cash. 

“Could you just let me go? Please?” Dream asked, opening his eyes all the way, and turning down the corners of his mouth just slightly. “You can keep the stuff. Including the money. I... I’ll find some way to make Wilbur forgive me for losing it.” 

It would be a pain, but Dream could replace everything in the bag in a few days. He disliked having 10K go up in smoke, but he wouldn’t actually miss it. Plus, if this guard knew how deep Dream’s pocketbook really was, then he would ask for way more. 

Vincent clicked his tongue, letting out a long condescending sigh as he returned to his desk. 

“Jeez, I don’t know. I am trying to run a family establishment here. We can’t have our reputation tarnished by having these sorts of illegal dealings going on out back.” 

Vincent’s gaze fell onto Dream’s Glock again and he picked it up. Waving the fully neutralized weapon in Dream’s general direction. 

"Not to mention the fact you could have really hurt someone with this."

Dream dropped back onto all four legs of his chair. Scowling hard and refusing to look at his weapon.

“I was just told to carry it, just in case, I would never...” Dream trailed off, biting down on his bottom lip. That was still true. He might kill someone. Just not in a back ally. His method revolved around drugging or incapacitating his victim until he moved them to the soundproof room in his basement. 

Or it would, once he finished playing with Tommy in all the legal ways he could imagine. 

“I knew a guy back in basic who shot himself in the dick because he thought tucking his pistol into his belt was a good idea,” Vincent mused. “These are weapons. Not toys or accessories.”

Dream nodded. Though he really wanted to roll his eyes. If getting out of this was going to involve listening to war stories, maybe he should just take his chances with the police.

“So… You want me to just ignore the fact you could have seriously injured or killed someone on Fazbear Entertainment property?”

“Well, it sounds terrible when you put it like that,” Dream admitted with a nervous laugh.

So much for gathering sympathy, but Dream could take a hint. Vincent was still leaving the option open. Dream had to offer something a little better than crocodile tears.

Time to see if his ‘perverted old man’ impression of Vincent held any water.

Dream was aware of the possibility that his target might not be gay, but he figured he was attractive enough to bend a few lines. All his friends joked about getting into his pants and most of them hadn’t even seen his face. He also knew from experience that sometimes what was in a partner’s pants didn’t matter half as much as their capacity for submissive obedience. 

“Maybe I could make it worth your while?” Dream suggested. Swapping his anxious pout in favour of an innocent, hopeful smile. 

Vincent raised his eyebrows at Dream, and for a moment Dream thought he had misjudged his target. Then he saw the mask slip. The calm veneer of the middle-aged security guard gave way to unmistakable hunger.

“What exactly did you have in mind?” 

Now that was interesting. Dream recognized that look, but he normally saw it in the mirror. 

“Well, I have a few suggestions, but I need my hands free for them.” 

Vincent nodded, but his attention wasn’t on Dream anymore, much to the young-adults annoyance. 

Vincent opened the top drawer of his desk, rummaging around for a moment before finding the tool he was looking for.

Dream’s instincts kicked him in the guts with the sudden sense of danger. The bad feeling came true seconds later when Vincent extracted a medium-sized kitchen knife from the bottom of the drawer.

It was about the perfect size and shape for cutting vegetables, probably originally bought for slicing up pizza toppings.

Vincent could move fast when he felt like it. Hardly giving Dream a moment to realize he had made a horrible miscalculation before the blade was being pressed against his neck. 

“I think I’d prefer if you stayed just like this,” Vincent said amicably, a good-natured smile still planted on his lips.

His eyes, however, focused on Dream’s, searching his face.

Dream knew what he was looking for because it was the same thing he would want if their positions were reversed. Fear; pure and primal. That moment when someone suddenly remembers just how fragile life is, and that it could be taken away from them without a second thought.

“Thanks, but I don’t really do blood kink,” Dream replied, holding Vincent’s gaze.

Time for Plan B. Not that Dream had a Plan B… He knew what the first step was.

There was a moment of distraction. An awkward pause as two wolves hiding in sheep’s clothing discovered their prey was another wolf playing pretend. The moment was just long enough for Dream to lift his foot up and aim a kick right below the belt.

The blow was glancing because of the awkward angle, but it had the effect he needed. Vincent stumbled backwards, giving Dream space and a few precious seconds. 

He kicked against the floor next, flipping both himself and the chair onto their backs. He hit the ground hard, nearly cracking his head against the linoleum floor. Adrenaline flooded his system, so he didn’t have to get his breath back.

Dream wiggled, moving his shoulders up and his hands down. He tucked up his legs and got the back of the chair under his feet. He pulled up with his arms and kicked hard, the combined effort snapping the wooden slat he’s chained to.

The moment of victory was short-lived. Vincent’s foot came down hard on Dream’s chest, forcing the air from his lungs. Dream reflexively breathed in, but the weight on his chest made it difficult.

Vincent kneeled, keeping most of his weight on the foot on Dream. 

“That was an idiotic move, Kiddo,” He said, a touch of anger finally finding its way into his voice. It was a small crack in his armour, but a crack was still a crack. Somehow, Dream got the feeling Vincent wasn’t used to his prey fighting back. 

If Dream had been a touch less conceited, he might have realized that he wouldn’t be in this situation if he hadn’t made himself into an appealing target, but thinking something like that would require admitting he had done something wrong, and that was about as likely as the sky caving in. 

“H-hey, you can’t blame a guy for trying.” Dream responded with a shrug. Throwing in a cheeky grin just to rub it in.

“Well, we’ll just see about that, won't we?”

Vincent’s fingers tightened around Dream’s throat. Dream could feel the strength in his fingers, and he didn’t doubt Vincent could choke him to death one-handed if he wanted to. Hell, there were a lot of ways to make this end quickly, but so far Vincent wasn’t taking any of them.

Clearly, this wasn’t just about the kill for him. Dream could sympathize with that. Vincent had let his mask slip, but Dream’s was firmly in place, and that gave him the upper hand. Surviving the next few moments hinged on Vincent’s desire to see him suffer. 

Vincent dug his pointer finger and thumb into Dream’s jaw, forcing him to tilt his head to the left, then the right. He still had his knife in his right hand, apparently spoiled for choice on where to begin.

“Make sure you stick it in all the way. I hate it when people pussy out,” Dream said. He was feeling lightheaded from his restricted breathing, but that would not convince him to keep his mouth shut.

“Friendly advice kid, no one likes a smart-ass,” Vincent chided, bringing his knife up and running the tip across Dream’s shoulder. Between his ribs, collar, and sternum, bone protected most of the targets, and Vincent’s knife wasn’t quite strong enough to risk breaking it on cartilage.

So there was really only one non-lethal option available, at least if Vincent wanted to stay out of kicking range.

Vincent pulled back his armed hand, and Dream braced himself. Pain exploded from his upper right arm as the stainless-steel blade sliced through the fabric of his hoodie into the fat and muscle. The sharp tip hit the bone underneath before finally stopping. 

Dream let out the breath he had been holding. His heart was pounding so hard he felt like Vincent must have been able to feel it through his boot. To Dream’s credit, he didn’t scream, but the desperate whimper that slipped past was almost as bad.

Vincent twisted the handle. It was too stuck in to move, but it didn’t have to. Dream stiffened, the wave of pain visibly passing through him. Dream blinked rapidly as the image of Vincent leaning over him blurred, his vision filling with dark spots.

“Ow…” Dream murmured dryly, forcing himself to smile. He choked out a short laugh before it mutated into a gasp of pain as Vincent pulled the knife out.

Stabbed for the second time, Dream’s reaction wasn’t half as strong, and Vincent didn’t cut as deep. He jerked the knife down, slicing open Dream’s upper arm through the bloodstained hole he had put in his hoodie. The fabric had already soaked in as much blood as it could, leaving the rest flowing down Dream’s arm and sticking to the skin.

The dark clouds in Dream’s eyes closed in. His senses overloaded with the excruciating pain. All the tension left his body, like a puppet cut from its strings, his eyes falling shut.

Vincent ignored the change in body language, adding two more long cuts, just above and below Dream’s elbow. But after neither of those drew a reaction, he paused. Keeping his eyes on Dream, Vincent shifted his weight, taking his foot off Dream’s chest. He stood back up and nudged the lifeless Dream in the ribs with the toe of his boot. 

The rapid flow of blood from Dream’s arm was pooling all over the floor. Vincent grabbed Dream around his collar and hulled his limp body over to the nearest wall, propping him up against it. Smearing blood across the floor. He kneeled down again, studying Dream’s face for signs of consciousness.

“You’re not falling asleep on me. Wake up!” Vincent ordered. Pulling back his hand and slapping Dream hard across the face. The sound of impact reverberated around the office. Dream didn’t even twitch.

With a huff of frustration, Vincent stood back up. He looked Dream over. He should just finish the troublemaker off, but it seemed like such a waste to end things so soon. Going to the kitchen to get some water would take three minutes. Dream remained handcuffed, not to mention bleeding like a stuck pig.

His mind made up, Vincent walked over to the desk and picked up the magazine from Dream’s pistol. He tucked it into the duffle bag and threw the whole thing over his shoulder. It was heavy, but it was safer to take it with him, just in case. Vincent closed the door to his office behind him, locking it with a key from the ring tucked into his belt.

As soon as he heard the deadbolt turn, Dream’s eyes snapped open. He didn’t dare look at his right arm, but when he glanced down, he noticed the handcuffs covered in his blood. Since suffering through a late-teens growth spirit, Dream had stayed on the tall but skinny side, especially his wrists. It had been almost enough to slip through before, but with the blood making it slippery…

Dream grit his teeth as he moved his injured arm. He maneuvered the cuffs under his feet and pushed. It took a good minute of wiggling and a torrent of swearing, but his hands came free.

Knowing he didn’t have a single moment to spare, Dream pulled himself up. His gun was still on the desk. He scrambled over to it, almost slipping in his own blood in his rush. As soon as he wrapped the fingers of his good hand around it, he realized the magazine was gone.

“Fuck!” Dream muttered, anger rising in his chest as he glared down at the useless slab of metal.

Then something shiny caught his eye, half-hidden under the wooden sides of the desk.

Dream dropped to his knees and grabbed for it, a smile of pure joy coming to his lips when he realized what it was.

The single bullet Vincent had ejected from the chamber of his pistol. It must have rolled off the desk when he wasn’t looking.

Dream held the butt of the pistol between his knees. He put the bullet between his lips, freeing up his good hand to pull back the slide. It was tricky, but he dropped the bullet into the chamber and snaped the slide back into place.

Holding his gun in his left hand felt strange, but the relief of having it again completely overshadowed it.

Last but not least, Dream pulled his Mask over his face. Completing his transformation into a monster just as deadly as the one whose den he had mistakenly entered. 

The door to the office clicked as it was unlocked. Dream jumped to his feet, pulling his gun up to chest level.

As Vincent opened the door, a large glass of water in his hand, his eyes fell to the empty section of the bloodstained floor he had left Dream laying on. Seeing his prey vanished, he quickly scanned the room until he found the Masked man pressed up against the wall behind his desk, his Glock pistol clutched in a trembling hand. 

“Hey Kiddo,” Dream greeted, forcing as much irony as he could into the two words. 

For a moment Vincent seemed rattled by the white face with the permanent smile, but once he noticed the lack of purple tears and red cheek marks, Vincent relaxed. It wasn’t the puppet, just this weird kid. 

“Now why on earth are you holding onto that?” Vincent asked, shaking his head. “Don’t you remember what I told you about playing with guns? You’re lucky I took your ammo away. So, you don’t hurt yourself.”

“Yeah, and I’ve got a gun safety tip for you too, asshole. Always remember to put the bullet back into the magazine when you empty the chamber,” Dream shot back.

Vincent’s eyes winded just a little. He chuckled, putting the glass he had been carrying down on the floor before lifting both his hands in surrender. All the while smiling his typical, amicable smile. 

“Well, I guess that means checkmate,” Vincent admitted.

Despite being at gunpoint, Vincent didn’t seem worried, and frustratingly, Dream understood why. The blood loss was affecting him, not to mention the pain from his injured arm. His entire body was trembling and his aim with his left hand was already shit.

If he fired and missed he was dead for sure, and getting close enough to Vincent to guarantee a hit would give the older man a chance to disarm him. Then there was also the high likelihood of a malfunction from loading his pistol manually.

Really, all Dream had was the vague possibility of hurting Vincent, it was enough to get him out of here but getting revenge was completely off the table. 

“Give me back my stuff,” Dream demanded.

Vincent agreed, sliding the bag off his shoulder and holding it out towards Dream.

“Nice try. Throw it to me.

The bag landed halfway between Vincent and Dream. He swallowed, weighing his options. There was no way to do this that didn’t involve closing the gap between them.

“Okay, now back off,” Dream said, waiting for Vincent to take several steps away before attempting to retrieve his bag.

Dream’s right arm was completely immobile, the muscle had suffered too much damage. He would need to point his gun away from Vincent for a few seconds to pick up his bag. Keeping his eyes locked on the security guard, Dream stooped down and slipped the arm holding the pistol into the strap of the bag. Bringing the gun back up as quickly as he could.

Vincent didn’t move. He just stood there watching Dream. His smile was not dropping even half a centimetre.

Dream shifted the bag, so the weight was on his shoulder. He started backing out of the office and into the hall. The lights in the pizzeria were all turned off, but that was hardly surprising since it was probably almost 11 o’clock by now. Dream glanced left and right, trying to take an educated guess about where the exit was.

The hallway to his right seemed to empty into a larger room. He could see lines of tables covered in white tablecloths and colourful party hats. Dream started walking down the hallway, turning around to check behind him after a few steps.

His heart skipped a beat when he realized Vincent was standing in the hallway behind him. He hadn’t heard the security guard move.

“Don’t follow me,” Dream hissed, jabbing his gun at Vincent. 

“Whatever you say, Kiddo,” Vincent replied, tilting his head to the side.

Deciding it might be prudent to walk backwards for the time being, Dream started moving towards the dining room. The further he got away, the more Vincent blended into the shadows. By the time Dream was standing at the end of the hall, all he could really see of him was the glimmer of his golden badge. 

Dream risked a quick glance over his shoulder. On one side there was a wooden stage with three decrepit-looking animatronic animals standing on it. On the other, a pair of double glass doors leading back out into the street.

Dream turned his attention back to the hallway. Spotting the shine that let him know Vincent was still there. He knew how stupid the idea he was toying with was, but it was still tempting. He had always been shit at keeping his hands out of cookie jars, no matter how likely it was he would get caught.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself as best he could and tightening his finger around the trigger.

The gunshot rang out in the cramped hallway. Dream turned and ran, sprinting with every ounce of strength he had left. He made it halfway down the length of the dining room before he heard pounding footsteps closing fast behind him.

Dream tucked his head down, focusing on his target. The red glowing exit sign burning into his retina.

He hit the door; flinging it open with the force of his momentum. The cool night air hit his lungs and Dream took in his surroundings. There were two guys leaning against the pizzeria wall. One of them was in the middle of smoking a cigarette. While the other, a rather pasty younger man with a rat’s nest of brown curly hair, was staring at Dream with a look of shocked concern. 

For a second Dream thought about asking them for help, but he recognized the uniforms they were wearing. More children’s restaurant security guards. Not worth the risk.

Dream heard the inside door crash open, springing him back into motion. He tore down the street, with no clear goals in mind besides ‘Get as far away from Freddy Fazbear’s pizza as possible.

Before he was out of earshot Dream caught one last exclamation from behind him.

“Jeremy, Mike! You’re ah… early?” 


End file.
